by Satyajit Ray
‘Thank you. What I read in the papers told me something quite different.’
We went out of the room together with Dr Hajra. It was dark outside. Although the western sky was still glowing red, the streetlights had come on. But where was Mukul? He was last seen in the garden, but now he wasn’t there. Dr Hajra had a quick look in his room, and came out, looking concerned.
‘Where’s that boy gone?’ he said and climbed down from the corridor on to the gravel path. We followed him. Mukul was certainly not in the garden.
‘Mukul!’ Dr Hajra called. ‘Mukul!’
‘Yes, he’s heard you. He’s coming!’ said Feluda.
In the twilight, I could see Mukul coming back from the road outside and turn into the gate. At the same time, I saw a man on the opposite pavement, walking briskly towards the new palace on the eastern side. I did not see his face, but could see—even in the dark— that the colour of his shirt was bright red. Had Feluda seen him?
Mukul came towards us. Dr Hajra went to him, his arms outstretched, a smile on his lips. Then he said gently, ‘You shouldn’t go out like that!’
‘Why not?’ asked Mukul coldly.
‘You don’t know this place. There are so many bad people about.’
‘I know him.’
‘Who?’
Mukul pointed at the road. ‘That man . . . who was here.’
Dr Hajra placed a hand on his shoulder and turned to Feluda. ‘That’s the trouble, you see,’ he said. ‘It’s difficult to say whether he’s talking of someone he really knows in this life, or whether he’s still talking about his previous life.’
I noticed a shiny piece of paper in Mukul’s hand. Feluda had seen it, too. He said, ‘May I see that piece of paper you’re holding?’
Mukul handed it to Feluda. It was a piece of golden foil, about two inches long and half an inch wide.
‘Where did you find it?’
‘Over there,’ Mukul pointed at the grass.
‘May I keep it?’ asked Feluda.
‘No. I found it.’ Mukul’s voice hadn’t changed. His tone was just as cold and as flat. Feluda was obliged to return the piece of foil to him.
Dr Hajra said, ‘Come on, Mukul, let’s go to our room. We’ll have a wash, and then we’ll both go and have dinner. Goodnight, Mr Mitter. Early breakfast at half past seven tomorrow morning, and then we’ll leave.’
Feluda wrote a postcard to Mr Dhar with news of Mukul’s welfare before we went to the dining hall. By the time we got there after a shower, Dr Hajra and Mukul had returned to their room.
Mandar Bose was sitting in the opposite corner, having his pudding with the Marwari gentleman he had been talking to earlier. They finished their meal and rose as we were served our soup. Mr Bose raised his hand and said, ‘Good night!’ as he went out through the door.
After two nights on the train, I was feeling quite tired. All I wanted to do after dinner was go to sleep, but Feluda made me stay awake for a while. He took out his blue notebook and sat on the sofa. I was lying in my bed. We had a cream to ward off mosquitoes, so there was no need to use the mosquito net.
Feluda pushed the little button on his ballpoint pen, got it ready to write and said, ‘Who have we met so far? Give me the whole list.’
‘Starting from . . . ?’
‘Mr Dhar’s arrival.’
‘Okay, Sudhir Dhar. That’s number one. Then Shivratan. Then Neelu. Oh, Shivratan’s servant—’
‘What was his name?’
Can’t remember.’
‘Manohar. Next?’
‘Jatayu.’
‘What’s his real name?’
‘Lalmohan.’
‘Surname?’
‘Surname . . . his surname is . . . Ganguli!’
‘Good.’
Feluda continued to write as I proceeded with my list. ‘Then we saw that man in the red shirt.’
‘Did we actually meet him? Get to know him?’
‘No.’
‘All right. Go on.’
‘Mandar Bose, and that other gentleman.’
‘And then we met Mukul Dhar. Doctor—’
‘Feluda!’
My sudden scream made Feluda stop in mid-sentence. My eyes had fallen on Feluda’s bed. An ugly, creepy creature was trying to slip out from under his pillow. I pointed at it.
Feluda sprang to his feet, moved quickly and removed the pillow. A scorpion lay on the bed. Feluda pulled the bedsheet off in one swift motion and the scorpion fell on the ground. Then he grabbed his chappal and smacked it three times with all his might. After that, he tore off a piece from a newspaper, picked up the crushed creature with it and went into the bathroom. I saw him crumple the whole thing into a ball and throw it out of the back door.
He came back to the room and said’, ‘The door which the cleaners use was left open. That’s how Mr Scorpion got into our room. Anyway, go to sleep now. We have an early start tomorrow.’
But I could not dismiss the matter so easily. Something told me . . . but I put the thought out of my mind. If I kept thinking of possible danger, and if my telepathy was strong enough, it might just drag that danger closer—who knew?
It would be far better to try to sleep.
Six
The following morning, as soon as I emerged from our room, I heard a familiar voice say, ‘Good morning!’ It was Jatayu. Feluda was already seated on a chair on the corridor outside, waiting for his tea. Jatayu glanced round excitedly and said, ‘Oh! This is such a thrilling place, Mr Mitter! Full of powerfully suspicious characters.’
‘You are unharmed, I hope?’ Feluda asked.
‘Oh yes. I feel fitter than ever. This morning, you know what I did? I challenged the manager of our lodge to an arm-wrestle. But the fellow didn’t accept.’ Then he came a little closer and whispered, ‘I have a weapon in my suitcase!’
‘A catapult?’
‘No, sir. A Nepali dagger, straight from Kathmandu. If I’m attacked, I’m going to stab my attacker with it—push it straight into his stomach, I tell you. Then let’s see what happens. I’ve always wanted to build up a collection of weapons, you know.’
I wanted to laugh again, but my self-control was getting better, so I managed to stop myself. Lalmohan Babu sat down on the chair next to Feluda and asked, ‘What’s your plan today? Aren’t you going to see the fort?’
‘Yes, but not the fort in Jodhpur. We’re going to Bikaner.’
‘Bikaner? Why Bikaner?’
‘We’ve got company. Somebody’s arranged a car.’
Another voice said ‘Good morning!’ from a different part of the corridor. Mr Globetrotter was walking towards us. ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked.
I caught Lalmohan Babu casting admiring glances at Mandar Bose’s handsome moustache and muscular physique. Feluda introduced him to Mr Bose.
‘Good heavens, a globetrotter!’ Lalmohan Babu’s eyes widened. ‘I must cultivate you, dear sir. You must have had a lot of hair-raising experiences!’
‘Plenty, I can assure you. The only thing that I have missed is being boiled in a cannibal’s cooking pot. Apart from that, I have had virtually every experience a man can possibly have.’
Suddenly, I noticed Mukul. I hadn’t seen him come out on the corridor. He was standing quietly in a corner, staring at the garden. Then Dr Hajra appeared, dressed and ready to go out. A flask was slung from one shoulder; from the other hung binoculars, and around his neck was the strap of his camera. He said, ‘It will take us almost four and a half hours to get there. If you have a flask, take it with you. God knows if we’ll get anything to drink on the way. But I’ve told the dining hall to give us four packed lunches.’
‘Where are you off to?’ asked Mandar Bose.
On being told where we were going, he became all excited. ‘Why don’t we all go together?’ he asked.
‘What a good idea!’ exclaimed Lalmohan Babu.
Dr Hajra looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Well then, how many are actually going?’ he en
quired.
‘Look, there’s no question of all of us going in one car,’ Mr Bose reassured him. ‘I will arrange another taxi. I think Mr Maheshwari would also like to go with me.’
‘Are you going, too?’ Dr Hajra asked Lalmohan Babu.
‘If I go, I’ll pay my share. I don’t want anyone else to pay for me. Tell you what, why don’t you four go in one taxi? I’ll go with Mr Globetrotter.’
Obviously, Jatayu wanted to hear a few stories from Mr Bose and perhaps get ideas for a new plot. He had already written at least twenty-five adventure stories. To be honest, his remark made me feel quite relieved. Five in one car would have been cramped and uncomfortable.
Mr Bose spoke to the manager and booked a second taxi. Lalmohan Babu returned to New Bombay Lodge. ‘Please pick me up on your way,’ he said before he departed. ‘I’ll be ready in half an hour.’
Before I describe anything else about our visit to Bikaner, perhaps I ought to mention that Mukul rejected the fort there as soon as he saw it. But that was not the highlight of our visit. Something far more important happened in Devikund, which proved that we were truly up against a ferocious foe.
Nothing much happened on the way to Bikaner, except that we saw a group of gypsies. They were camping by the roadside. Mukul asked us to stop, got out of the car and roamed amongst the gypsies for a while. Then he returned and declared that he knew those people.
After that, Feluda and Dr Hajra spoke about Mukul for a few minutes. I cannot tell whether he heard the conversation from the front seat. If he did, his demeanour gave nothing away.
‘Dr Hajra,’ Feluda began, ‘when Mukul talks of his previous life, what exactly does he say?’
‘He mentions one thing repeatedly—a golden fortress. His house was apparently near that fortress. Gold and jewels were buried under the ground in that house. From the way he talks, it seems as if he was present when the treasure was buried. Apart from that, he talks of a battle. He says he saw a large number of elephants, horses, soldiers, guns, cannons—there was a lot of noise, and people were screaming. And he talks of camels. Says he’s ridden camels. Then he talks of peacocks. Once a peacock had attacked him, pecked his hand so hard that it began bleeding. There’s something else he mentions frequently. Sand. Haven’t you noticed how animated he becomes when he sees sand?’
We reached Bikaner at a quarter to twelve. The road began going uphill a little before we reached the city, which was surrounded by a wall, on top of the hill. The most striking building there was a huge fort, made of red sandstone.
Our car drove straight to the fort. As it got closer, the fort appeared to grow bigger. Baba was right. The appearance of the forts in Rajasthan was a good indicator of the might of the Rajputs.
As soon as our taxi drew up at the entrance, Mukul said, ‘Why have we stopped here?’
Dr Hajra asked him, ‘Does this fort seem familiar, Mukul?’ Mukul replied solemnly, ‘No. This is a stupid fort, not the golden one.’
By this time, we had all climbed out of the car. Just as Mukul finished speaking, a harsh raucous sound reached our ears. At once, Mukul ran to Dr Hajra and flung his arms around him. The sound had come from a park opposite the fort.
‘That was a peacock. Has this happened before?’ asked Feluda.
Dr Hajra stroked Mukul’s head gently. ‘Yes. It happened yesterday in Jodhpur. He can’t stand peacocks.’
Mukul had turned quite pale. ‘I don’t want to stay here,’ he said, in the same lifeless yet sweet voice.
Dr Hajra turned to Feluda. ‘I’m going to take the car and go to the local Circuit House. Then I’ll send it back here. Why don’t you two see whatever you want to? You can join me at the Circuit House when the car comes back to pick you up. But please make sure we leave here by two o’clock, or it will be late by the time we get back to Jodhpur.’
There was reason to feel disappointed, particularly for Dr Hajra, but I didn’t mind all that much. I was about to step into a Rajasthani fort for the first time in my life. The thought was giving me goose pimples.
We proceeded towards the main gate of the fort. Suddenly, Feluda stopped and laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘Did you see?’
‘What?’
‘That man.’
Was he referring to the man in the red shirt? I followed his gaze, but could not spot a single red shirt anywhere. There were lots of people milling about, for there was a small market just outside the fort. ‘Where is he?’ I asked.
‘Idiot! Are you looking for a red shirt?’
‘Yes. Shouldn’t I? Who are you talking about?’
‘You’re the biggest fool on earth. All you remember is the shirt, nothing else. It was the same man, he was wearing a shawl and most of his face was covered, all except his eyes. But today he had a blue shirt on. When we stopped to look at those gypsies, I saw a taxi going towards Bikaner. That’s when I spotted that blue shirt.’
‘But what is he doing here?’
‘If we knew that, there would be no mystery!’
The man had vanished. I passed through the gate and entered the fort, feeling rather agitated. A large courtyard greeted me. The fort stood proudly to the right. There were pigeons everywhere, in every niche in the wall. A thousand years ago, Bikaner was a thriving city, but it had disappeared under the sand. Feluda told me that four hundred years ago, Raja Rai Singh began building the fort. He was a famous leader in Akbar’s army.
Something had been bothering me for a while. Why hadn’t Lalmohan Babu and the others arrived yet? Did they get late in setting out? Or had their car broken down on the way? Then I told myself not to worry. There was no point in spoiling the joy of seeing an amazing historical sight.
What struck me as most amazing was the armoury. Not only did it contain weapons, but also a very beautiful silver throne, called Alam Ambali. It was said to be a gift from a Mughal badshah. Apart from that, there were swords, spears, daggers, shields, armour, helmets—there was no end to the weapons. The swords were so large and so strong that it seemed incredible that they were meant to be used by human beings. The sight of those weapons reminded me of Jatayu again. Funnily enough, as soon as I thought of him, he arrived, possibly dragged by the force of my telepathy. In that huge room in the massive fort, standing near a very large door, Jatayu looked smaller and more comical than ever.
When he saw us, he grinned, looked around and simply said, ‘Was every Rajput a giant? Surely these things weren’t made to be used by ordinary men?’
It turned out that my hunch was right. They had travelled for about seventy kilometres, when their taxi got a flat tyre. ‘Where are the other two?’ Feluda asked.
‘They stopped to buy things in the market. I couldn’t wait any longer, so I came in.’
We left the armoury and went off to see Phool Mahal, Gaj Mandir, Sheesh Mahal and Ganga Nivas. When we got to Chini Burj, we saw Mandar Bose and Mr Maheshwari. They were both clutching parcels wrapped with newspaper, so clearly they had done some shopping. Mr Bose said, ‘The weapons I saw in the forts and castles in Europe—all built in medieval times—and the weapons I’ve seen here today, all prove one thing. The human race is becoming weaker every day, and smaller in size!’
‘Like me, you mean?’ Lalmohan Babu remarked with a smile. ‘Right. Exactly like you,’ Mr Bose replied. ‘I don’t think a single Rajput would have matched your dimensions in the sixteenth century. Oh, by the way,’ he turned to Feluda, ‘this was waiting for you at the reception desk in the Circuit House.’
He took out a sealed envelope from his pocket and passed it to Feluda. It had no stamp on it. Someone must have delivered it by hand. ‘Who gave it to you?’ Feluda asked, opening the envelope.
‘Bagri, the fellow who sits at the reception desk. He handed it to me just as we were leaving. Said he had no idea who had dropped it off.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Feluda. Then he read the note, replaced it in the envelope and put it in his pocket. I could not tell what it said, nor could I ask.
&nbs
p; We spent another half an hour in the fort. Then Feluda looked at his watch and said, ‘Time to go to the Circuit House!’ I didn’t want to leave the fort, but knew I had to.
Both taxis were waiting outside. This time, we decided to leave together. As we were getting into ours, the driver told us that Dr Hajra and Mukul had not gone to the Circuit House. Apparently, Mukul had declared that he had no wish to go there. So where did they go? ‘Devikund,’ said the driver. Where was that? Not far from Bikaner, it turned out. Feluda said there were cenotaphs there (locally known as ‘chhatris’), built as memorials to Rajput warriors.
We had to travel five miles, and it took us ten minutes. Devikund really was beautiful, as were the cenotaphs. Each cenotaph had stone columns that rose from stone platforms, supporting a small canopy, also made of stone. The whole structure, from top to bottom, was exquisitely carved. There were at least fifty such cenotaphs spread over the whole area. There were plenty of trees, all of them full of parrots. The birds were flocking together on some, or flitting from one tree to another, crying raucously. I had never seen so many parrots in one place.
But where was Dr Hajra? And Mukul?
Lalmohan Babu was getting restless. ‘Very suspicious and mysterious!’ he exclaimed.
‘Dr Hajra!’ shouted Mandar Bose. His deep, booming voice made a number of parrots take flight, but no one answered.
We began a search. There were so many cenotaphs that the place was like a maze. As we roamed amongst them, I saw Feluda pick up a matchbox from the grass and put it in his pocket.
In the end, it was Lalmohan Babu who found Dr Hajra. We heard him shout and ran to join him. Under a mango tree, in front of a mossy platform, Dr Hajra was lying crumpled on the ground. His mouth was gagged, and his hands were tied behind his back. He was groaning helplessly.
Feluda bent over him quickly, removed the gag and untied his hands. A torn piece of a turban had been used to cover his mouth.
‘How on earth did this happen?’ asked Mr Bose.
Fortunately, Dr Hajra was not injured. He sat up on the grass and panted for a while. Then he told us what had happened. ‘Mukul said he didn’t want to go to the Circuit House,’ he said, ‘so we just drove on. Then we happened to come here. Mukul liked the place. “Those things are chhatris,” he said. He had seen them before, and he wanted a closer look. So we got out of the car. Mukul began exploring, and I stood in the shade, under a tree. Suddenly someone attacked me from behind. He placed a hand over my mouth and knocked me down. I fell flat on my face. Then he pressed me down firmly—I think he kept his knee on the back of my head—and tied my hands, and then gagged my mouth.’